


The Torture of the Everyday

by TeaandBanjo



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Gen, MFMMwhumptober, Whumptober 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-08-02 12:31:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16305272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeaandBanjo/pseuds/TeaandBanjo
Summary: Phryne has one of those days.





	The Torture of the Everyday

Phryne stared into the bottom of the cocktail glass.  Maybe the painkillers would start working soon. If there was a reason for menstrual cramps, God was going to have to explain it to Phryne Fisher.   _Many years from now._

The sound of a knock, the sound of Mr. Butler answering it were expected.  “Good evening, Inspector. Miss Fisher is in the parlor.”

She heard the familiar footsteps shift from the sound of tile to the scuff of a leather shoe against the carpet.

“Sit down, Jack.”  She gestured with some emphasis at the other end, without looking up.  There was a glass waiting on a tray, and there was no questioning the intent about which part of the seat she intended for him.

 “Thank you for sending Miss Williams to assist me.  She was able to get the girl calmed down enough to identify the purse-snatcher, and we were able to locate her parents.”   The couch shifted under his weight as he sat down.

“I knew she would be able to make a connection.”  She replied, setting her glass very carefully on the table.   _Smile, flirt_ , she told herself. _No, I’ve been doing that crap all day._  

 

_I’m really happy to see Jack._

_Sitting upright is too much work._

She glanced over and measured the distance from where she sat, to Jack and his drink.

 

Slowly, she lay sideways on the couch. _It is my couch, in my parlor._

 

Jack did not jump in surprise, although she felt him twitch.  Her head was now resting on his thigh. She squirmed a little, adjusting herself to the upholstery, and found a comfortable spot on Jack’s leg.

“Are you quite sure you are alright, Miss Fisher?”  He sounded surprised. Her hair had fallen over her face, and she could not see his expression.

“Let me tell you about my day, Jack.”  She let out a long sigh.

He brushed her fringe off her forehead, and moved some strands of hair from her cheek to a spot behind her ear.  “Of course. Was it exciting?”

She hummed approval, and captured his fingers before he could move them away.  

“Only in the literary sense.”  She slid his hand to the back of her neck.  “Would you mind rubbing that? I’m all knots today.”

 

> “Mr. Butler, I have a few errands to run,” said Phryne, as she sailed into the kitchen with her lacy cardigan floating behind her and captured a scone.  “I’m going to take the Hispano, as my gunsmith is some distance away.”
> 
> “You will need to fill the tank, Miss.  The station was out of high-test yesterday when I stopped by.”
> 
> “You can’t expect to run a machine like that on regular gas!”  She shrugged. “Also, I’m expecting a call from the dentist. They are supposed to fit me in today.”
> 
> “Of course, Miss, I will make a particular note when they telephone.”
> 
> “You are a treasure, Mr. B!”  She paused on the steps. “I almost forgot!  I’ll be at the Fleuri sisters for a fitting at 3 o’clock.”
> 
>   
> 

Phryne rolled a little, and now her nose was against his knee.  His fingers relaxed against the skin at her hairline. _This may never happen again._

“Do you want to tell me about it?” he asked.

 

> The man in the greasy tweed coat stood up from behind the workbench, the top of his head gleaming in light of the bare electric bulb.  The pieces of Phryne’s gold revolver were spread out on a grubby rectangle of flannel.
> 
> “I’m sorry, I don’t have the part.”   He held the frame of the revolver, and polished it gently with a cloth.  “I needed to order the replacement spring directly from Smith and Wesson, and it is usually 6 weeks for overseas delivery if we’re lucky.  I’ll call around, but I can’t promise you anything.”
> 
> “Can you make one?”  Phryne felt her fingers itch.  She didn’t carry the revolver all the time, but she never knew when it would seem like a really good idea.
> 
> He shrugged.  “I’d have to find the right stock, correct thickness and steel, file it to shape, and match the factory temper.  It might work, it might not.”
> 
> Phryne sighed.  “So, I can either wait for a trans-Pacific shipment from the Americans, or risk something that might snap when I cock the hammer?”
> 
> He set the part down, and looked at her with a thoughtful gaze.  “Do you have a spare? You might consider a compact semi-auto pistol like a Luger.”
> 
> “Why?” she asked.
> 
> “If you are going to do a not exactly legal concealed carry, someone your size will find it easier to conceal something that isn’t quite as thick.”  He set down the metal frame of her revolver, and picked up the cylinder, which looked very much like a strange, heavy salt shaker when it wasn’t attached to the rest of the firearm.
> 
> “I don’t find a Luger as reliable.”  Phryne bristled. Why was this man questioning her choice of weapons?  “What do you carry?”
> 
> The man reached, left handed, to the middle of his back, and pulled out a small, gray revolver.  Three of his fingers were wrapped loosely around the grip, his smallest finger had no place to go and hung in the air.  “Smith and Wesson. Chambered in 38 special. Not quite as fancy as some.” He waved at the pieces of her gun, and put away his.  
> 

“I tried to get my pistol fixed. Can you believe they don’t have any spare parts here?” She sighed. Jack’s hands were warm against her neck.  “It’s going on a boat from America.”

There was a long pause.  He always gave careful consideration to anything he said, so she wasn’t impatient for an answer.  Phryne kicked off her shoes.

“Tell me if this is too hard,” he said.  He moved his thumbs in small circles, slowly traveling down on either side of her spine.

“Don’t stop.”  She let out a long breath and tucked her feet onto the end of the chaise.  “So, after that, well, I have a full tank of gas, but also there was a spider.”

“In the Hispano?”  His thumbs paused at the first prominent vertebra, where technically he would no longer be touching her neck. Phryne was going to wait for him to consider that.

“No, the ladies toilet.”  She put her hand on his knee.  The texture of wool covered the shape of the joint, and old training filled in the name of the bones under her fingers.   _Femur, patella, fibula..._   “You would be proud of me.  I didn’t scream or anything.”

“No?”  He had reached the top of her blouse, and his fingers started slowly working back up to the base of her skull.  Some more of her tension was leaving.

 

> “Where is the ladies toilet?”  Phryne wasn’t sure if it was Dot or Mr. Butler, but one of them always made sure there were sanitary pads in the glove box.  She was pretty sure she needed one of them now, and there they were, under a crumpled road map of Victoria.
> 
> The man in the coveralls looked up from the gas pump.
> 
> “Dunny is around behind the shop. Tell Mum in the kitchen if Peg let it run out of paper again.”  
> 
> “Thanks.”  Phryne smile, mostly out of habit.  She swung her legs out of the Hispano, and felt his gaze on her bottom until she was behind the building.
> 
> She admitted to herself that she had seen worse.  The structure was recently painted to match the main building, but it leaned a little, and the door was slightly askew.  She opened the door, and decided that the one at the back of place in Collingwood had also smelled worse.
> 
> As was her habit since she was very small, she listened for the sound of rodents skittering away to hide, and leaned in and inspected the floor for crawly things.  The rough board floor looked like it had been recently swept. ‘Peg’ must be on the job.
> 
> The covers to the holes were all closed, and neatly painted.  She remembered the game of choosing one when she was a child, but she was a grown woman, and it would be nice to get the pad in place before her trousers suffered for it.
> 
> As she expected, ‘Ladies’ Monthly’ had arrived.   She’d put the knickers to soak when she got home. Pad, safety pins, none of it required any thought.  She’d be back to pay before the man was done filling the tank.
> 
> She was fastening her trousers and congratulating herself on their continued whiteness when she looked up.
> 
> The web of a small spider spanned the distance between two of the studs, up near the roof.  It was an elegant piece of tapestry, gossamer and worthy of Dot.
> 
> The maker of this beautiful work crouched, eight-legged, in the center of her silken fairy-castle.
> 
> Phryne could feel its eight eyes on her as she grabbed her purse and bolted through the door.  
> 
>  
> 
> She stood in the back garden and finished buttoning her trousers.   _I hope no one is looking out the window right now._

 

“So,”  continued Phryne, “I paid for the gas and got back in the car to go home.”

“Of course.”  Jack prodded the top of her shoulder experimentally.   _Trapezius._    His fingertips seemed to follow the the bits that hurt most.  She must be very tense. He slowly rocked the side of his hand across the top of her shoulder, shifting a little each time.

“Dotty was waiting for me with a list of phone messages,” Phryne began.

> Dorothy Williams opened the back door as Phryne scampered up the garden path.  There was a pair of black pants in her closet. She wouldn’t need to change anything else in her outfit, just black pants.
> 
> “Miss, the dentist has you scheduled for 10:30,” Dot said, looking at a piece of paper.  
> 
> Phryne’s shoes taped up the steps into the kitchen.   _That isn’t much time._
> 
> “The Inspector called, he left a message that he needs your help interviewing a troubled teenage girl they found wandering the docks, and Miss Jane’s Latin teacher called and insists on speaking with you in person.”  
> 
> “Oh, no, Dot!”  She set her purse down on the kitchen table.  “Is Jane in trouble again?”
> 
> “She refused to give me any additional details, but I think so.”  Her companion’s expression was solemn.
> 
> Phryne took a deep breath, and looked at the clock.  Seventeen minutes before she was expected at the dentist.  There really wasn’t any time to do anything about her stupid choice of white trousers this morning.   _What was I thinking?_ _  
> _ “Dot, I want you to meet with the Inspector. You are the right person for this.”
> 
> “Of course, miss.  I won’t let you down.”  Dot squared her shoulders and did her best to look brave.
> 
> “Phone and leave a message for Jane’s teacher that I will be there at 12:30, I’m not sure when her lunch break is, but I will wait if I need to.”
> 
> “I’ll get right on it.”  She practically skipped to the telephone.
> 
> “Thank you, Dot.  I must run.”
> 
> _Fifteen minutes to the dentist_

 

“Busy,”  observed Jack, calmly.  His thumbs were in the close-cropped hair at the back of her neck.  

> Phryne had never enjoyed the sounds and smells of a dental office.  The mix of disinfectants and strange high-pitched noises worked on her nerves.  The luxuriously padded upholstery of the dentist’s chair did not even come close to average things out.
> 
> “Miss Fisher, we can certainly replace that filling.”  Dr. Bradshaw’s calm voice in her ear also did not help.   “However, we are out of nitrous oxide. Will you be comfortable with just novacaine, or would you like to reschedule?”
> 
> “I’m fine with that, Doctor.”   Well… worse things had happened to Phryne Fisher in her lifetime.
> 
> “You are just going to feel a little stick.”
> 
> _Little stick my arse._

“It always amazes me how the medical profession can be so optimistic about things like that,” offered Jack, neither requesting all the details or refusing to hear all the details.

“Anyway, I was in plenty of time to get over to Worley.  The secretary at the front office gave me directions for Miss Everly’s, so it was just a matter of finding my way up the stairs without getting trampled by young ladies changing classes.”

 

> “Miss Ross is one of my most diligent Latin students, however… yesterday we had an incident.”  Miss Everly’s office was tiny and tidy, and the window overlooked a large lawn where a lot of young ladies were chasing each other with sticks.   _It seems field hockey is popular at Worley Grammar._
> 
> “An incident?”  asked Phryne, carefully.  
> 
> “It was nothing physical.  However,” at this, the elderly lady paused for effect, “I heard her reciting some improper lines.  
>  “Latin?”
> 
> “Cattullus.”
> 
> Phryne shrugged.   _What is a little bit of poetry?_
> 
> “It is not a proper study for a girl her age,” continued Miss Everly.  
> 
> “Did she pronounce the words correctly?”  asked Phryne, slowly, feeling her lower lip lagging behind her brain.
> 
> “It’s not the pronunciation!”  Miss Everly frowned at her. “Have you been drinking, Miss Fisher?  Your words are slurred.”
> 
> Phryne sat up straighter in her chair.  “I have not. I was at the dentist, and the novocaine hasn’t worn off yet.  Jane’s education is important to me, and I want to hear what you have to say.”
> 
> Miss Everly frowned, her forehead creasing even more strongly.  “As I was saying, the subject of the poem is not proper for a young lady.”
> 
> “When is it proper?  It is certainly a Latin poem of historical significance.”
> 
> Miss Everly sighed.  “She was repeating it to another girl.”
> 
> “I will explain to Jane the difference between a proper matter for study, and a proper matter for social conversation in school.”
> 
> “See that you do.”
> 
>  
> 
> Phryne muttered to herself as she descended the stone staircase:
> 
> “Lesbia does it in doorways.
> 
> Lesbia does it for free.
> 
> Lesbia does it with the senator’s boys….”

 

“Why won’t she do it with me?” Jack completed the verse for her.

“I didn’t know you studied Latin!”  She lifted her head a little, then thought better of it.  Jack had moved his hands away.

“Well, it wasn’t as interesting as an actual living language, but teenage boys tend to let certain kinds of things stick in the mind.”

Jack’s fingertips traced the base of her skull, just behind her ears.  Phryne stretched, and relaxed again.

“Cross-town traffic was beastly, but I was just in time for my fitting appointment.  The Fleuri sisters have been making me a fabulous gown for one of Aunt P’s benefits.”

 

> The fitting room at the House of Fleuri was hung with large mirrors.  The vase in the corner was plain, rather than costly, but the flowers in it were impeccably fresh.
> 
> Madame Fleuri was assisted by one of the fitters in carrying the multi-layered confection of silk chiffon in shades of peach and coral red.
> 
> “Of course we aren’t done with the beading,” explained Madame.  “That will be done next, after we adjust the neckline and the bodice to your satisfaction.”
> 
> “Of course,” replied Phryne, who was feeling better now that she had sensation in her lip, and had a new gown on offer.  She stood calmly in her camisole and tap pants. There was also a fresh sanitary pad, but that certainly wouldn't affect the fit in this gown.
> 
> The two of them lifted the gown over Phryne’s upraised hands, and settled it carefully around her figure.
> 
> Madame stroked the silk gently into place, and tugged on the zipper at the underarm.  
> 
> Then she tugged a little harder.
> 
> “Have you been putting on weight, Miss Fisher?”

  


“And then she asks me ‘Have you been putting on weight?’”  Phryne could feel her shoulder muscles tensing up again. “What do you think?”

“Miss Fisher, are you asking for my professional opinion?”  There was a hint of laughter in Jack's voice.

Phryne turned to look up at him, with a wicked grin.  “I know what you think of my arse, Jack.”

“Then you don’t need me to answer your rhetorical question.”  

> Phryne pulled the Hispano-Suiza carefully into the garage.   _Melbourne drivers were completely insane these days.  Didn’t they realize how important it was to stay out of her way?_
> 
> “Hullo, Mr. B,” she said as she stepped into the kitchen.  “It has been quite a day. Do I have time for a hot bath before dinner?”
> 
> “I’m sorry Miss.”  her butler turned to greet her.  “The boiler is out. We can heat water on the stove for your bath, but it will take a few minutes.”
> 
> “Oh, dear.  I think I’ll just have a cocktail in the parlor, then.  And a powder.”  
> 

She seized Jack's hand in both of hers, squeezed it lightly, and did not release it.

Phryne rolled to face the couch and pulled herself into a ball, with her forehead pressed into Jack’s hip bone.  His hand was now trapped against her chest.

 

“Don’t mind me,” she mumbled.  “Just going to close my eyes for a minute before dinner.”

  


There was a hand on her shoulder.  

“Miss Fisher,”  Mir. Butler’s voice brought her to full wakefulness.  “Will you want dinner in fifteen minutes, or shall I hold it for another hour?’

She sat up slowly, lifting her head off Jack Robinson’s leg and setting his hand down on the couch.  

He was sprawled against the back of the sofa.  Sound asleep.

Someone had covered her with the throw.  She flung it away.  She put her feet on the floor and stood up.  A nap must have been just what she needed. Nothing hurt, now.  

“Dinner sounds delightful, Mr. B.  Do you have a place set for the Inspector?”

“I hope I did not presume!”  He smiled.

“You didn’t.  We will be ready when you are.”  He left the parlor, and Phryne could hear the sounds of plates and spoons in the kitchen.

“Jack!’  Phryne shook his arm, and got to watch him go from slouched against the furniture to sitting up straight and looking almost entirely alert.

“Miss Fisher.”  He looked her over.  Phryne assumed she must be a fright.  “Just resting my eyes.”

“I’m not used to having men fall asleep on me,” she teased.

“You fell asleep on me,” he protested.

She couldn’t resist a smile.  “I’m not here to apologize.”

Jack’s smile was warm, and maybe a tiny bit sleepy.  “You don’t need to.”

“I’m feeling like myself again, Jack.  It was a long day.”  “Will you stay to dinner?”

“I’d be delighted.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for this story started with a Slack discussion about things that would happen to Phryne on a really bad day...many people offered ideas (thanks, ladies!) but I can't remember who. It seemed to be a good fit for "Whumptober."
> 
> Ollyjayonline, thanks for the beta read and suggestions!
> 
> I’m not sure which Cattulus poem this is, or who is responsible for this lovely translation. I saw it a long time ago in a facebook rant about the good old days when literature and poetry were all high-class.
> 
> Novocaine was first synthesized in 1905. Wikepedia was not clear on when dentists decided they preferred it to cocaine (for their patients).


End file.
